


December 22nd: Grinch

by IneffableToreshi



Series: Good Omens Advent Calendar 2019 [23]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: An Ineffable Holiday (Good Omens), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Childhood, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Crowley Loves Kids (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guardian Angel, Guardian Demon, Ineffable Advent, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Warlock is hurt, brother francis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21901339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableToreshi/pseuds/IneffableToreshi
Summary: This is Day 22 of my Good Omens Advent Calendar for 2019, in which Warlock shows up at the bookshop with a chip on his shoulder.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Advent Calendar 2019 [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1550176
Comments: 12
Kudos: 139





	December 22nd: Grinch

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays everyone! I hope you enjoy my Good Omens Advent Calendar! Consider it my Christmas gift to the fandom! And if you want to give me a gift in return, please leave me a comment (I live for them!) and if you're really awesome check out my other stuff by going to my blog over at http://traceytobin.wordpress.com! <3

"So it's true then."

There's a bang as Aziraphale drops the rather large tome he was reshelving, and a strangled yelp as Crowley leans around a corner and catches sight of the customer who has just walked into the shop. 

They all stare at each other for what seems like an immensely long, uncomfortable bit of time, but is, in truth, only a few delicate heartbeats.

"Warlock…" The name falls from Aziraphale, unbidden. If there was even the smallest chance that the boy before them didn't know exactly who they were, it's gone now. 

The black-haired boy looked the angel up and down with an eyebrow raised and his arms folded across his chest. "Brother Francis," he concluded. "You've changed." Dark eyes rove over to where Crowley is standing stock-still, not taking a single breath. "Not as much as you, though, Nanny," the boy added with a snort. "Did you get a  _ sex change _ ?"

The question seemed to break the demon out of his moment of shock. He fidgeted uncomfortably and, realizing that he wasn't wearing his glasses, magicked a pair behind his back and hastily shoved them on his face. "Uh...it's, that is- It's a bit more complicated than that…" His voice trailed off as he stared at the floor at Warlock's feet. 

There was another uncomfortable silence, during which Aziraphale's gaze went from Crowley to Warlock and back again, as though begging one of them to say something. Then, finally, the boy sniffed and offered a strange half-smile half-snarl. "I'll make it easy on you," he offered. "I've been talking to Adam Young."

That made another bolt of shock crash through the angel and the demon. Aziraphale was the one who spoke. "Adam...he told you...how much did he tell you?"

That smile-snarl made another appearance as Warlock stepped forward. He began to wander around the shop nonchalantly, staring up and down the bookshelves as he walked. "He told me enough," the boy explained. "We met at a public skate my mom dragged me to. Freaked me out, coming up to me like that. I thought he was a nutter." He paused in front of a shelf of theology books, snorted, and moved on. "But then he started telling me things about my childhood to prove he knew me." He glanced back at the angel and demon, who had shifted closed together and were staring at him as he spoke. "He told me where to find you, and said to tell you both that I deserve to know why I had the weirdest upbringing of any kid I've ever met." 

During his wandering, the boy had found the back room of the shop and invited himself to flop down into Aziraphale's plush armchair. Elbows on the arms, hands tented in front of his face, he stared hard at the two beings who had followed him at a safe distance. "Go ahead then," he insisted. "Let's hear it."

Aziraphale stuttered, entirely taken aback, unable to work out what he should or shouldn't say. "Well...well, it's- It's rather complicated, my boy," he said lamely.

Warlock raised an eyebrow from behind his fingers. "Try me."

Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth half a dozen times, unsure or unwilling, the right words refusing to find their way to his lips. 

Then there was a 'whoosh!' from behind the angel, and Warlock's disdainful eyes went wide. 

Aziraphale whipped around, his own eyes nearly popping out of his head as he took in the full majesty of Crowley's night-black wings spread across the width of the room. The angel made a strangled noise that sounded like, "What are you  _ doing?! _ " and the demon responded by removing his glasses and meeting his eyes with a look of resignation. 

"He does deserve to know, angel," Crowley said in a low voice. "Adam is right about that. Think of how we may have affected the course of his life because of our incompetence."

Panicked blue eyes met saddened amber ones, and finally, after a long moment, the angel nodded. 

Together the angel and the demon sat on the sofa opposite the boy they'd mistakenly influenced for over a decade. 

And they spoke. Sometimes slowly, sometimes in huge rushes of words that they couldn't seem to get out fast enough. Some things Aziraphale explained, other things were left to Crowley; occasionally they went over something together, speaking over one another, every now and then contradicting one another. They told the story, such as it was, and at some point Aziraphale reluctantly manifested his own pristine white wings. 

Through it all Warlock sat and stared and listened. Occasionally he raised an eyebrow or stared a little harder, but mostly he listened and absorbed. Even when the angel and the demon had finished their tale, the boy sat and stared and considered. 

Aziraphale glanced up at Crowley, eyes deep with worry, before turning back to the boy. "Aren't you going to say anything?" he asked after several long, awkward moments.

Finally, Warlock's hard gaze left the pair of celestial creatures fidgeting together on the sofa. Instead the boy's eyes wandered, taking in the Christmas tree, the lights, the presents… He stood and approached the ornaments the Them had made, giving them a little tap with the tip of a finger. 

"I hate Christmas, you know?" he finally said. 

Aziraphale and Crowley glanced at each other, brows furrowed. It was possibly the last thing they'd expected Warlock to say after their confessions.

"Sure, there's presents and candy and stuff," the boy continued, "but dad is always off doing whatever stupid crap the president always has him doing, and mom's so obsessed with appearances that she never wants to do anything  _ fun _ , and the two people who actually seemed to care about me just...disappeared one day and never came back." 

Warlock turned and met the eyes of the angel and the demon who sat before him, looking contrite and aghast. The boy's face was stoic, blank, but his eyes told another story. "You left," he said, voice flat and cold. "I don't care about any of the other stuff. I care about the fact that you  _ left.  _ Both of you. You were my only two real friends in the whole world, and one day you just  _ left _ . You realized I wasn't the kid you'd thought I was, and you  _ left! _ " His voice had risen, grown angrier, his eyes glassy and wet. 

Crowley was the one to rise first, hand outstretched. Warlock flinched away from the gesture, and even the most inattentive of people could have seen the way the demon's heart broke. He let his hand fall, but took a few tentative steps forward. "We didn't leave because we wanted to," he promised, voice a soft, sad sigh. "We left because we needed to find out what had really happened...in order to save the world."

Aziraphale had stood and sidled up beside Crowley, linking their fingers together for strength. "And we didn't return to you because-" His voice cracked a little as he squeezed his demon's hand. "-well, to be honest, we thought we'd rather screwed up your life enough as it was."

Warlock stared. He jutted out his chin, clenched his teeth and his fists together. Both the angel and the demon who had practically raised him recognized the motions as the boy trying his absolute damnedest not to cry. "You didn't screw up my life," he growled, trying so hard to remain angry. "You two idiots were the only good things  _ in  _ my life."

The words drew a soft whimper from Crowley. 

Aziraphale forced himself to find the words for both of them. "We're so sorry, my boy," he said gently. "We never meant to hurt you. We both cared for you far too much to do that."

Warlock stared. But his fists were shaking, and his cheeks were twitching, and they could see the way he was leaning forward, ready to break. 

Crowley released Aziraphale's hand, carefully dropped to his knees, and spread his arms wide. 

The moment seemed to hang in the air for an eternity. Time seemed to have stopped turning around them. 

Then a sob filled the room, and suddenly Warlock was in Crowley's arms, clutching at him hard enough to make the demon wince, bawling his eyes out into red hair and black fabric. 

Aziraphale knelt beside them, wrapped his arms around them both, and leaned his forehead against the boy's black hair as he shook with sobs. The angel whispered a few words in a language unknown to man, praying for the boy's pain to be soothed, while Crowley held him tight and promised over and over again that they'd be there for him from now on, for as long as he wanted them. 

The three knelt like that, drawn together with arms and tears, until the sun set outside and a soft white snow began to fall.


End file.
